


Five (Times Ten)

by RoseCathy



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseCathy/pseuds/RoseCathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bite-sized lost moments from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger">felineranger</a>’s <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/465075/chapters/802965">Fifty Shades of Smeg</a>. Written for the <a href="http://rdficfest.tumblr.com/">Red Dwarf Fic Remix Fest</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fifty Shades Of Smeg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/465075) by [felineranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger). 



Rimmer knows better than to stare gormlessly or otherwise let his face betray him, even in exceptional cases. Nonetheless, he suspects that something in his eyes is giving him away, because to call Lister exceptional would be an understatement. From the dreadlocks (Rimmer imagines them sliding partly through his fist before being arrested in his firm grip) down the leather-covered hips (he pictures them quivering underneath him) to the tips of his boots, he is _beautiful. Perfect. Mine. **Mine,**_ he thinks as he grasps Lister’s hand for the second time.

-

Kristine watches them go, her insides knotting with confusion and something else that she can’t define. The way that man’s eyes had tracked Lister and only Lister, as though the other people in the room were just gnats beneath his notice. The brazenness with which he’d said _Because I wanted to see you again._ The whisking Lister away like he couldn’t possibly wait another second for them to be alone. For all she knows, “lunch” was code for “unspeakable acts in the discreet comfort of the limo”.

She realises what her other emotion is: jealousy. It’s only a small amount yet; somehow she can’t see Dave having his head turned by wealth or obsessive attention. All the same, she thinks wistfully, if someone were to fall for her in such an obvious way after a single meeting, she might at least consider - well, maybe.

-

The Lister in Rimmer’s mind struggles to get a grip on the slippery red silk sheet. Each time the flogger thuds against his already-reddened skin, he moans gratefully and pushes himself up, gradually getting into just the right position for his master. _Good boy,_ Rimmer purrs. 

Lister hums into his pillow as Rimmer’s hands pull his hips backward. The Lister in the real world, having left Rimmer alone in the back of the limo, disappears around a corner.

-

The mental image of Lister straddling the Ducati (sleek, powerful, smooth — everything that a beautiful, rebellious young man could want in a bike, according to Rimmer’s diligent research) is so absorbing that Rimmer almost forgets to click “Submit Order”.

-

_You should have saved your money and kept the bike, man. I would have fucked you without it._

_I would have fucked you without it._ The words reverberate in Rimmer’s head. He’s told himself dozens of times: _He can never be yours. He doesn’t understand what that means, to be yours, to belong to you. Stop thinking about him._ None of these scoldings have had much of an effect; now they are officially useless. He needs to find out precisely what Lister meant — as in just one wild night, no strings attached? As a regular occurrence? Could it be that he’s been on Lister’s mind as much as Lister has occupied his every…but he’s getting ahead of himself. First things first. He jabs at the button on his tablet.

-

Lister’s soft, even breathing is the only sound that reaches Rimmer’s ears. He wonders at how serene it makes him feel, how even his non-sleep feels more peaceful than usual.

-

His lawyer doesn’t say “So soon after Miss…?” or make any other remarks of that nature, even jokingly, which reassures Rimmer once again that he is the right man for the job. There are precious few people in the world he can trust, whether generally or with his secret, and he needs absolute trust, not to mention an ironclad legal agreement which will finally, finally make it safe for him to take what he wants.

“If you could review the wording one last time - Mr Rimmer?”

Rimmer jumps. Fortunately, there are no remarks either on the way his cheeks are burning or the subtle (he hopes) shifting he’s been doing in his chair without realising. Tonight can’t come soon enough.

-

“You’re a mess,” Lister points out dazedly. Small curls stick out near his forehead at random; his chest moves rapidly; his lips are ruddy and swollen. Everything about him is perfect.

“So are you,” Rimmer replies. It’s hardly his usual style, but he can’t resist the temptation to rain kisses on that lovely face. Lister sighs and relaxes into the white silk.

As much as Rimmer would like to stare for hours at this tableau, Lister needs some proper sleep. Reluctantly, he scoops Lister up and off his bed.

-

A certain amount of arrogance is necessary to being Arnold Rimmer. That arrogance allows him the deep-down belief that he’ll get what he wants. He wants Lister, and Lister wants him; that much is clear.

Then again, even deeper down, he is still Arnold Rimmer. If Lister can see past his suave exterior (he thinks it quite possible), past the jet and the apartment and even the sex which he’d clearly enjoyed, and find -

The safety key disengages. Rimmer hops off the treadmill, suddenly winded. He reminds himself that he has nothing to worry about. After all, contracts exist to preclude any overstepping of boundaries and to ensure that Lister will not see Arnold Rimmer, hapless murder victim, erstwhile smeg-up.

-

Lister trembles as Rimmer rolls him to his side and repositions his legs. He’s still panting from the previous round, but he seems up for the next — _yes_ — still so open and eager and slick and driving Rimmer closer to madness by the second. He never wants to stop, even after the ice cubes have all melted and the sun has made its way back over the horizon. If Lister’s half-delirious murmurs are anything to go by, they feel the same way.


	2. Entanglement

Rimmer sneaks glances at Lister while he works his cock over. It feels good, warm and heavy in his mouth, and it jerks minutely in response to his gentle tugs on the straps around Lister’s hips. _Thirteen._ Keeping quiet is a lost cause by this point. The thought makes Rimmer chuckle gleefully around his mouthful, which in turn makes Lister let out a squeak. _Fourteen._

-

“How was that?” Lister whispers playfully, crawling back up and burrowing into Rimmer’s arms.

“Would you like a score out of ten?” Rimmer teases back.

“Er, not really.”

Rimmer laughs and kisses him tenderly. Feeling those strong arms tighten around him, Lister forgets about the question and about the slight ache in his jaw muscles. He forgets everything except the curls tickling his forehead and the lips hot against his.

-

Lister does rather well after his initial shock — he’s improved immeasurably since the party. Rimmer doesn’t know whether to feel proud or disappointed at the sudden loud gasp or the screams vibrating against his hastily placed palm.

-

It’s not right, the way Rimmer - well, anything. Kristine’s frown deepens as she mentally reviews the timeline of Lister’s totally-not-a-relationship with Rimmer. She’d had a bad feeling about Rimmer’s tactics, but has assumed that Lister was being treated right. Nothing in his demeanour or the tidbits he shared has given her cause to worry. Until now.

Lister is a strong person, sometimes independent to a fault. He wouldn’t really let Rimmer walk all over him, surely? That doesn’t change her misgivings. Then again, she might still be harbouring some of the jealousy she’s felt from the beginning…

“That smeghead,” Petersen mutters out of the blue, adding fire to her internal debate.

-

“Good night, Dave.”

“Good night, sir.”

Lister is still down in the mouth. Rimmer doesn’t want to pry, but it seems to him that underneath all the smiles and sounds of pleasure and courteous words, something is very wrong.

He wonders with a pang if Lister has actually forgiven him for their fight. Perhaps if he changed his plans…yes, he can leave the leather harness and the electric wand for another weekend. A day of relaxation can’t do any harm.

-

 _This is it, this is exactly what you were looking for._ Rimmer permits himself a smile behind the papers. In some ways, this contract is more secure than the first. As Lister pointed out, the first one is not remotely legally binding, whereas this one will keep Lister bound to him (technically his company, but what’s the difference?) for at least two years.

For a fleeting moment, Rimmer sees the two of them two years from now, sprawled on the sofa — Lister no longer showing trepidation at whatever he’s just been informed about, but obedient, eager to follow him down the hall. Eager to submit.

-

“David,” Rimmer scolds. “I can’t see the movie.”

“Oh come on, man, this is much more interesting.” Rimmer rolls his eyes, but he allows them to shift so that they’re properly face-to-face and Lister can stroke his hair. “See?” Lister says proudly after a particularly long, deep kiss.

“I wonder — mmm — wonder how you’ll feel when I interrupt _your_ movie, miladdo.”

Lister shrugs. He’s seen the movie several times. The quiet intimacy of cuddling while watching movies is new, at least with Rimmer. It’s nice. More than nice.

-

Rimmer stares out the window. Although he’s rubbish at navigation, he’s reasonably confident that what he’s looking at is the light from Lister’s apartment.

With no warning whatsoever, his face breaks into a rare grin. He’s bursting with pride at Lister’s accomplishments; more than that, though, he’s filled with a strange, almost painful joy at - this, their situation, everything. Lister is so close now. There will be no more need to compete with the bar for his attention and spare time, certainly no need to cut short a play session so that he can get home in time. Rimmer’s got him right where they both want.

-

One morning, shortly after the boys have gone off to work, Mrs Jones finds herself daydreaming of an autumn wedding — warm food, mulled wine, the happy couple surrounded by miles of lovely foliage.

When Rimmer re-enters the penthouse and strides to his bedroom, calling over his shoulder that he’s forgotten something in there, her daydream morphs into an odd scene in which the newlyweds waltz in arm-in-arm, then part formally at the space between their respective bedrooms. She shakes her head, wondering at her own absurd mind. She can’t even remember why she started thinking of weddings in the first place.

-

Petrovitch is the only other person at the company who knows about Lister’s short commute. Whenever “Spanners” sunnily declines an invitation to drinks with their new colleagues, he smiles to himself in what he hopes is a secretive manner.

In his rare pockets of free time, he wonders how long this arrangement (Or are they allowed to call it a relationship now?) will last. A year, until they’ve graduated from the academy, ten years? How does this all work? He suspects that the awkwardness of dating the chief executive, not to mention all the secrecy, will begin to wear on Lister. Nonetheless, he knows that Lister is very happy with Rimmer, as difficult as that is to imagine; he wouldn’t bother with the complicated charade if he weren’t happy, surely.


	3. Broken

For all his initial discomfort with the limo and related trappings, Lister seems to enjoy it when they’re in it together. Rimmer can see why. It is lovely leaning back into the leather and against each other’s warm bodies, temporarily ignoring everyone and everything else.

But tonight, there’s something he can’t ignore: the queasy feeling which doesn’t subside even when Lister so adorably, irresistibly rubs his nose against Rimmer’s neck and strokes the back of Rimmer’s hand with his thumb. _Irresistibly_ — that was the problem. Lister had initiated their interlude in the garden on his own terms, and Rimmer was too caught up in excitement to resist. He’s always been able to resist before, and to punish if necessary to maintain his hold.

-

Mrs Jones isn’t sure what to think of this new, non-grapefruit-averse Lister. Toward her, he is as polite and affectionate as he’s ever been. Toward Rimmer, he’s - changed? Reformed? She feels ashamed, but the first phrase she thinks of to describe Dave’s apparent state of mind is _broken in._

-

Rimmer decides to do a test. “No more of that, Dave. Too much sugar is bad for you.”

He can see Mrs Jones’ raised eyebrows out of the corner of his eye and feel her unease along with his own.

“Yes, sir,” Lister replies cheerfully. He sets the dessert spoon down next to his half-eaten cupcake, taking care not to make too much noise. “May I have some more water?”

-

Lister has been so _good_ lately. It unnerves Rimmer when he thinks — really thinks — about it for more than a minute or two, so he refrains from doing that. It’s far easier to congratulate himself on his training skills. He certainly doesn’t get that queasy unsettled feeling anymore.

 _Every good boy deserves a special treat, particularly on his master’s deathday,_ he thinks wryly, holding the electric wand up to the light to examine it. He’s looking forward to testing out its capabilities; if all goes well, it should produce some gorgeous orgasms. He can see it now: Lister writhing helplessly in his arms and pleading even as his body automatically offers itself up for more, harder fucking, more and more torment. _It’s too much - I can’t take it - please - please let me come, sir, please…_

-

Rimmer stares blankly at the lift doors. _Goodbye, Arnold,_ and just like that, Lister is gone. Just like that?

Part of his brain refuses to believe what’s happened. He did not beg (all but get down on his knees) for Lister to not leave him. He did not (oh god) threaten to lock Lister in the cage. The cage, for smeg’s sake! Contrary to what he feels, there are no tears running down his face. There can’t be.

Lister is no longer in the room with him, let alone in front of him, let alone touching him. And just like that, he is alone once again.

-

 _The only reason I’m doing any of this messed-up shit is because I love you_.

At the memory of those words, Rimmer finally stirs from his spot.

_Did you say you love me?_

_Yes. But it doesn’t matter now._

Indeed. Rimmer has never had cause before to regret his inability to love. He’s not sure if what he feels at the moment is in fact regret, but it feels close enough.

_Enough now. He’s gone._

-

Rimmer locks the contract in the bottom drawer of his desk at home, although his lawyer would no doubt advise him to destroy it.

-

Rimmer has picked at his breakfast for the third morning running. This seems to be a new coping mechanism. For the first several days, including the day Mrs Jones found him flat on his back on the sofa in his dressing gown, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he ate heartily, if mechanically, as though to fill a void.

Mrs Jones has too much tact to make would-be comforting overtures like “I miss David very much too” — it’s probably best if she never mentions his name again. Nevertheless, she wishes she could offer sympathy through more direct means than silence and cups of tea.

-

Try as he might, Petrovitch has nearly as much trouble understanding Lister’s new situation as he had understanding his old one. His number-one priority as a friend, of course, is how Lister feels day to day, whether he needs a night out on the town, that sort of thing. Yet he can’t quite accept Lister’s claim that Rimmer will be quick to find a replacement. The man may be ruthless, yes, but based on what Petrovitch saw, he was nothing if not single-mindedly obsessed with and possessive of Lister. Not the type to let go easily.

However, being a good friend, Petrovitch keeps his observations to himself.

-

Rimmer is pacing the length of the sitting room. When the lift doors open, he looks up expectantly, almost like he was hoping - but no, what a foolish idea. Mrs Jones greets him neutrally, trying to put the image of poor, devastated Dave out of her mind.

He continues to pace. It might be worth a shot: _I saw Dave at the supermarket, Mr Rimmer. He looked well._ Hearing that Lister is all right might ease some of the pain. She doesn’t pretend to understand all of the psychology behind Rimmer’s “arrangements” and behaviour, but it’s clear that ensuring Lister’s well-being was (is) important to him.

The phone on the coffee table vibrates loudly, startling them both. Rimmer looks at the name on the screen (Mrs Jones wonders whether she hallucinated the glimmer of hope in his eyes), frowns, and presses the button to silence it.


	4. Glory

A thrill runs through the room whenever someone utters the name _Wildfire_. Rimmer can’t stop smiling. To his employees, this is normal (if rather unusual), as his company’s just made a major breakthrough. They don’t notice the thrill that runs through Rimmer’s body whenever someone utters the name _Dave Lister_.

For a moment, just one moment, Rimmer lets himself change the timeline. Now, if Lister were with him, the celebration would be quite something. They’d have another Indian-themed night, perhaps, and he’d lie back on a cushion contentedly to watch Lister enjoying himself. Maybe he’d apply to that idea to the playroom (after making sure that Lister had scrubbed his hands thoroughly): _I’m going to watch you. No, don’t close your eyes. Look at me. Now, show me exactly how you…that’s it. Such a good boy._

-

Rimmer hears the doors creak open, then closed. He turns and finds himself looking directly into Lister’s eyes. There is neither need nor time to say anything at all. He crosses the room and takes Lister into his arms. They kiss over and over, tasting all the kisses they’ve missed out for the past month. One good sweep would have Lister upended over the nearest chair, spread out over the desk, on his knees on the floor - 

In reality, they stand feet apart, separated by the desk. Lister looks nervous.

“Dave?”

Actually, he looks…like he’s never looked before in Rimmer’s presence. Guarded. Detached.

“Dave?” Rimmer repeats, swallowing the bitter _something_ that’s risen in his throat. Lister blinks.

-

It’s a good thing Mrs Jones has gone home for the night. If she were here, Rimmer wouldn’t be able to prowl about the apartment without drawing a firm suggestion that he sit down and have a cup of tea. He can’t sit down, or lie down, or otherwise relax; he can’t shut off his worrying.

_If something happens to him._

_If they find him somewhere, cold, the light gone out of his eyes._

_If the light goes out of my existence._

-

_I love you._

It feels strange saying it, even silently. _I wish -_ this line of thinking is futile, but _I wish you hadn’t left me. I wish I’d known the words you wanted to hear that night._

In the seconds before they take their places on the podium, Rimmer’s eyes painstakingly trace every beloved line of Lister’s face. This is the best he can do now; Lister doesn’t want his hands there anymore.

-

Rimmer’s years in business have taught him how disastrous big decisions can become if all possible outcomes are not considered in advance, yet he refuses to plan for Lister saying no. He doesn’t think he would survive.

-

“Isn’t it time for your next dose?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Lister mumbles sleepily. Rimmer puts a protective arm around him as he sits up and reaches for his glass of water. “Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“So formal,” Lister laughs and in the ensuing bout of careful, rib-friendly, but nonetheless enthusiastic kissing, he remembers again that Rimmer loves him. No longer does he have to break his heart over what could (or could not) have been. “You know,” he whispers, “I can’t wait until I’m back in fighting shape.”

“You mean until I can hang you from the ceiling again?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

 _Good morning,_ Rimmer says to himself. He hasn’t slept any more than usual, but having Lister next to him is nice. Nice? Nice isn’t the word for it; it’s new, exciting, and peaceful, all at the same time.

_I just…I thought you’d still be there when I woke up._

_Why?_

He winces at the memory. He wants to hold Lister tighter as an apology for the pain he’s caused, except that would only cause more pain.

_Don’t say stuff like that…Don’t make me start thinking this is anything more than it is._

“I’m sorry, baby,” Rimmer whispers.

“Hm?” Lister tries to roll over. Rimmer guides the turn with his hands, gently, so that his ribs are cushioned.

-

Lister takes one look at the guest list and does a combination of recoiling in horror and laughing, also in horror. The lightest of light swats lands on his right buttock. “Dave, be serious.”

“I was being serious when I said ‘as soon as possible’,” Lister grumbles. “In the time that it takes to send out this many invitations, we could get married several times over.”

“Don’t you want a proper wedding, when you’re not in a wheelchair?” Rimmer has asked this before, every time in the same wheedling tone. Lister shakes his head, exasperated.

-

The minute Lister exits the lift, he crosses to the sofa and gets Rimmer onto his back with a few well-timed pushes. Rimmer puts out a hand to stop him tearing their clothes apart. “What?” Lister gasps out in frustration. “What are you doing?”

“I just wondered if you’d been cleared for _all_ activities.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So I might have had something planned.”

Lister lets himself be led to the playroom with a put-upon expression, which changes to apprehension, then excitement, then sheer joy as Rimmer carries out his plan. “You know,” he opines, peeking over the restraints on his ankles, “I have to admit, this is - ah! - better than what I had in mind. More - thorough.”

Rimmer pulls off his cock with a hum and brings him to the edge of the bed. “I’ll be _incredibly_ thorough today. That’s a promise.”

-

_From: Kristine Z Kochanski_

_To: David Lister_

_In exchange for my presence at your marriage, I expect at least one (ideally both) of your speeches to acknowledge the role I played in bringing it about._

_Just kidding, maybe. Congratulations, Dave. I’ll see you soon._


	5. Close to Our Hearts

“Arn?” Rimmer still isn’t completely used to the name; it makes him blush a little every time Lister says it. “We got married today.”

“I remember,” he replies dryly, reaching out to touch Lister on the nose. “How do you feel?”

“Happy, and, er…” Lister glances downward teasingly. “Whenever you’re ready again.”

Rimmer tightens the leather straps around Lister’s wrists. He’s ready again now, as his husband knows very well. They’re on pace to have one of the longest wedding nights in history.

-

As outlandish as it might sound, this is the first time that Lister has seen his husband sleeping, and it might be the last time for awhile. He shifts to give Rimmer’s head more room on his lap and tentatively strokes the silky curls he loves.

-

Mrs Jones doesn’t really trust either of the boys to cook dinner without setting something on fire, flooding the kitchen floor, or forgetting an essential spice. They would be in desperate need of cooking lessons if she weren’t around. Despite all that, she waves goodbye cheerily as she leaves them to plan and concoct a romantic three-course meal together, their heads almost touching as they try to decipher a recipe for cheese soufflé.

-

Lister looks over his shoulder for the fourth or fifth time, and Rimmer chastises him again. He thinks Rimmer could be a bit more understanding. Yes, darling, I do in fact know that it is Saturday night. Yes, I am aware that no one would be in or near your office at this time except us. Your _office_.

The office upstairs in the penthouse is one thing; this office, the official office, is something else altogether. Ironic, really, considering the fantasy he got lost in when he entered it for the first time.

-

Someone (Rimmer has a very good idea as to who) has added a passenger seat. Someone will be hearing about this over dinner.

-

The whip swishes and cracks in the air. “Have you had enough?”

“No, no, it’s just - ” Lister takes a few deep breaths and rocks back and forth to steady himself. “I’ve - just realised.”

“What?”

“Black box.”

“Oh. Well. There must be ways to modify it.” Rimmer slides the handle of the whip along Lister’s side. “It’s a bit late to worry about that now, don’t you think?”

Lister chuckles wryly. “I guess so.”

“Again?”

“Yes, sir.”

-

“Maybe we should go” has turned into three-million-year-old tea and biscuits (baked from frozen dough which was a mere 1 million years old). Lister watches his guests as they take turns telling their story and rides out one painful reminder after another of the lost human race, his friends, his lovers.

-

By the time the visitors are ready to leave, Rimmer is drained and awake. He can already feel more resentment building up as they board their craft. They are so implausibly happy, not to mention young. The sight of them, and now the lingering image of them, makes him aware of each individual wrinkle on his face.

When Lister fills him in on their story over dinner, he loses his appetite.

-

Ace and Spanners snuggle down together under their fluffy duvet. Minutes later, for the second time in his life, Lister gets to watch Rimmer sleeping. He looks so angelic that Lister can’t help (as gently as possible) pulling him closer until they are cheek-to-cheek.

-

Contrary to what Rimmer thinks, Lister’s only gone through three or four cans of Leopard Lager. For some reason that he can’t articulate precisely, he wants to stay sober tonight — he just feels that something monumental is about to happen. What that something is, or how monumental, he couldn’t say.

“Lister, turn the smegging light off and _go to sleep_.”

“Not yet, man,” Lister mutters.

“Then kindly do your wallowing and getting drunk somewhere else.”

“Nah.”

“LISTER.”

“All right, fine, I’m done. I’m going to bed. Look.” Lister drops the latest empty can. Rimmer glares at him when it clatters loudly to the floor, then frowns in surprise when he picks it up and sets it back on the table.

“Wha - what are you doing?” 

Lister has stopped short of the ladder and is standing inches from Rimmer’s face, staring hard into it.

“I was thinking,” he says slowly, “about life. The meaning of, the state of my, et cetera.”

Rimmer makes the helpless _I’m lost and you’re drunk_ gesture that Lister knows so well. “And?”

“Well.” Lister looks down to his feet, then raises only his eyes and eyebrows. “Mind if I join you?”

“Join me? In what?”

“You know. There. In bed.”

“I…you…”

 _So this is what it feels like when all that you’ve ever known crumbles to dust_ is Rimmer’s last thought before he falls asleep, against all odds, with his face buried in Lister’s shoulder.


End file.
